Inside of Out
by loveadubdub
Summary: She blames Puck. And Brittany. But mostly Puck. He's the only dude who's ever been good for more than getting her off, and he sucks so hard that he's turned her into freaking Rainbow Brite. He's a chubby chaser, and she's gay.  Possibly.


**INSIDE OF OUT**

…

She blames Puck.

And Brittany.

But mostly Puck.

He's the only guy who's ever been good for anything besides getting her off (not that he isn't good for that, too- he _is, _but not the point). He's the only one who's ever like been useful for anything besides sex, and he sucks so hard at everything else that she's turned into freaking Rainbow Brite.

He's turned into a chubby chaser, and she's fucking _gay. _Possibly.

She still doesn't know. She's not ready to give up on dick altogether because she likes it. Well, she likes it when somebody knows what they're doing. She likes Puck's the best because he definitely knows what he's doing. And he's the best. Way better than what she's getting now. Sam's so fucking useless. He doesn't know _anything. _She's surprised he even figured out which hole to stick it in. He just doesn't know what he's doing, like at all. And you'd think with a mouth that big, he'd be able to find a good use for it. But just... no.

It's making it really hard to be straight when she has to get _herself _off every single time.

But whatever, she doesn't give a shit about Sam. She's only with him because Brittany's retarded, and Quinn's a bitch. Finn's even more useless than Sam, and whether Quinn wants to believe it or not, she downgraded. Sam's at least a step up, which makes Santana a step up by proxy. At least he isn't tainted with or in fucking _love _with Rachel Berry. Plus, his body is _kicking, _and Finn could like breastfeed an entire village of Guatemalan orphans. So for now, Santana's winning.

But fucking Puck and his humpback whale bullshit. Seeing them together is like watching the goddamn Discovery Channel, and Santana sure as hell doesn't watch something that lame. (The irony that it's one of Sam's default channels is not lost on her. Fucking dork). She hates seeing Puck and Lauren together. She hates Lauren period. That fat bitch is lucky she weighs seven-hundred pounds because the fear of being squashed is the only thing keeping Santana from _killing _her.

Mostly she's just pissed that Puck is so fucking _into _her. She doesn't understand why he only ever gets that way with chicks who aren't her. She's been letting him do dirty shit to her since they were _twelve, _and he's never once sang her a song or let her walk around school clinging to his arm. Not that she'd want to because that's fucking lame, but a serenade wouldn't be terrible. He saves that shit for girls so far beneath her that they aren't even in the same stratosphere, and she just doesn't _get _it.

And yeah, maybe she and Puck hate each other like ninety percent of the time, but the other ten, they're actually pretty cool with each other. Like they have inside jokes, and they're both assholes, so they laugh at the same shit (and people). And he always has good weed that he doesn't mind sharing. And when all that stuff starts getting old, they're fucking _awesome _in bed together.

So she kind of hates him for letting her turn out like this.

…

"Trouty Mouth" is a fucking classic.

She doesn't give a shit what anyone else says. That song is _good. _Plus, she knows her performance was sexy as fuck and that all the dudes (including Mr. Schue- _pervert_) are half-hard in their pants. Sam's not, but that's probably a good thing because he always blows his load like two minutes later anyway.

And fuck him anyway if he can't appreciate all the work she put into that shit.

_He _should be singing _her _a goddamn song. She's the one letting him get his dick wet every single night. But whatever, he's just one more douchetard who saves the serenades for stuck up whores with their legs glued together.

She really fucking _hates _boys.

Puck gets up and sings Lauren another totally offensive song, but the bitch is too stupid to realize she's being insulted. Shit, at least Sam's smart enough to be a little offended. That dumb bitch is dancing along like it's the greatest fucking thing she's ever heard. Santana feels really sorry for that chair.

And, of course, everyone claps for Puck because they all like him. Nobody clapped for hers, and they can all go die in a fucking fire.

…

She goes to his house while his mom's at work, and she breaks in through the bathroom window like he taught her to do in seventh grade. She never knocks when she comes over here, mostly because he's too lazy to come downstairs and answer the door half the time. Either that, or his stupid bratty sister answers the door and starts asking too many questions. Santana would like to choke that little bitch sometimes, and she's only refrained so far because she's too pretty to be in jail.

She goes up to his room and doesn't bother knocking on that door, either. She just goes in and isn't shocked to see that he's in bed asleep. That kid could sleep for a week straight if somebody let him. She doesn't know if his sister's here, but if she is, he's doing a really shitty job of babysitting. He's under his comforter, but it's really, really low, and she can tell he's naked. That's also not surprising because he hates sleeping in clothes, and he doesn't even wear underwear half the time in _public._

Whatever. Easy access.

She only pulls the blanket down like three inches, and then she's got her hand around him. She slides her finger up and down really slowly until his eyes open, and he stares at her in confusion for like three seconds before...

"What the _fuck, _Santana?"

She smiles but doesn't move her hand. "Your sister set the kitchen on fire."

It's pretty hilarious how fast he sits up.

A second later, though, he glares at her and pushes her hand away before he lays back down. "She's not even here."

"Good."

He doesn't get a chance to ask why that's a good thing because she's got her lips on his dick. His eyes slip shut the way they always do for the first few seconds after she's got her mouth on him. It really does only last a few seconds, though, and then he's opening them, shoving her head away, and pulling the comforter back up to cover himself.

"Stop it." He barely even sounds awake.

She rolls her eyes and moves so that she can look right at him. "Why?"

"I have a girlfriend."

Santana laughs because it sounds so fucking stupid when he says that. He glares at her, but she doesn't care. "Yeah, I'm sure that fat bitch puts anything in her mouth."

"Leave her alone."

She ignores him, of course, because she doesn't take orders from anyone and also because it's hilarious. "Well, you're still alive, so I know you're not fucking her at least."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious." And she laughs again. "How would you even have sex with her? I mean, if you were on bottom, she'd crush you to death, and if you were on top, you'd die of blue balls before you got all the fat rolls moved out of the way to find her pussy. Either way, you die."

Puck looks like he wants to hit her or something, but he won't. She knows because she's _tried _to make him hit her before. God knows she's hit him enough times. He doesn't, though, no matter what she says or does. She knows it's because his dad used to beat the shit out of his mom, and it's fucked up that she's even thinking about that right now. Whatever.

"You're a bitch," he tells her, and all she can do is roll her eyes because being called a bitch is practically a compliment at this point. She doesn't give a fuck.

There's no point debating the advantages and disadvantages of fat sex with him because she already knows he's not getting it. So that brings her right to her next point. Or really her main reason for coming here.

"I want you to fuck me."

"Forget it."

It says a lot about them and about their relationship that she can just tell him she wants to be fucked and he can just shoot her down a second later. But that's kind of the best thing about their relationship. There's no bullshit. There never has been. They don't have to pretend and sugarcoat shit because they both keep it real no matter what.

But she's _getting _fucked one way or another.

"Why not?" she demands. "And don't give me some bullshit about your _girlfriend."_

"Okay. What about your _boyfriend?" _And he's got an eyebrow raised like it's some kind of challenge or something.

"He can't get me off for shit," she says honestly. She's not denying that shit.

"Get yourself off."

"I _have _been. For like weeks now." She pushes her hair over her shoulder. "My fingers are starting to cramp up."

He snorts, and she knows it's because he doesn't know any other girls who would just say some shit like that. But fuck, it's the truth.

"Just fuck me," she repeats, and she unbuttons her overshirt and slides it off her shoulders. "It's not like we have to tell anybody. You get off, I get off, it's win/win."

He's still eyeing her, and she knows she's almost got him. It's Puck. It's not like it's hard to talk him into sex. Still, he's resisting a little for god knows what? His Big Ass Blimp maybe? Whatever.

"Do it," she says firmly, and she sits up a little straighter because she knows it pushes her tits up in her tank. "Get me off, and then I'll do whatever you want."

"Anything?" And the eyebrow quirks again, this time in total interest.

"Anything." She's obviously kind of desperate because she _hates _the 'anything' she knows he's thinking of, but he loves it. And whatever, it's not like they've never done it before. She just needs him fucking her like now, so she'll agree to pretty much whatever.

…

Three orgasms later, she's lying in her own bed staring up at her ceiling.

She doesn't feel nearly as awesome as she wants to. It was good, or whatever, but she kind of feels like a cunt for cheating on Sam (what the hell?), and she also doesn't feel as satisfied as she thought she would. Puck can get her off just fine, but she knows he probably hates her just like everyone else does.

Plus, she's totally sore now, and she thinks he's an asshole for making her do that shit when he knew she was desperate.

She wants to call Brittany, but she's not sure they're really speaking this week.

…

They win Regionals, and it's kind of awesome.

Everyone's really happy, and Sam hugs her for like five seconds before he turns around and hugs Finn. And Quinn. And fuck him. Brittany's hugging Artie and then like _everyone. _Puck and Mr. Schue are making a Rachel sandwich, and Santana almost pukes when she sees it.

And then Coach Sylvester punches the governor's wife, and whatever, that shit's kind of hilarious.

Too bad they don't lock her crazy ass up for that shit. She'd deserve it.

…

She's five days late starting her period, and all she can think is _fuck, fuck, fuck. _

She's on birth control. Her mom made her start that shit when she was thirteen and came home with a hickey in the shape of stiletto. They've never been the best Catholics, and her mom has said a million times over that she's not raising anymore babies. So birth control and all that shit? She's practically had it shoved down her throat.

The main problem, besides the fact that she might have a fucking _kid _growing inside of her, is the fact that she wouldn't even know who the damn thing belongs to. She uses condoms pretty regularly when she's just fucking around, but Sam was a virgin so it's not like he cold give her anything. And Puck's definitely _not _a virgin, but he gets tested pretty regularly and shit. Plus, he hates condoms, and she usually only makes him wear one when she's being a bitch- not when she's desperate and practically begging him to fuck her.

So yeah. She doesn't even know which one of those assholes potentially knocked her up, so how the hell is she supposed to know who to demand abortion money from? Maybe she'll demand it from both and use the extra to buy herself a new purse.

She really wants to call Brittany again, but she won't. Brittany apparently thinks babies get dropped off by storks anyway, so whatever. She wouldn't be any help. Instead, Santana just goes to CVS, buys two pregnancy tests, a huge bag of M&Ms, and a copy of _Us Weekly. _It's got one of those sluts from _Teen Mom _on the cover.

The irony practically smacks her in the face.

The first test is negative. She doesn't bother taking the second one.

She lies in bed eating the M&Ms and reading her magazine. She feels really pissed off and particularly bitchy, so she grabs her phone and texts Puck.

_5 days late- ready for baby daddy round 2?_

Her phone rings exactly thirteen seconds after she hits send. She doesn't answer. He's probably freaking out, and she thinks it's funny.

He's an asshole. He deserves a little mind-fucking once in awhile.

…

The next morning, she sees Brittany sitting in Artie's lap outside the cafeteria. They're laughing at something, and then they start making out. And it makes her _sick, _like legitimately _sick, _to watch that shit. She is way better than Artie. In like every way. Brittany's so fucking _stupid._

She ends up crying, and she hates herself for it. She doesn't even know why. Maybe she's finally about to start her period or something and it's PMS. Whatever, it sucks, and she sure as fuck doesn't want anybody seeing, so she heads into the nearest bathroom and starts splashing water on her face and dabbing away with a paper towel. She's fucking up her makeup, but she's gonna have to redo it anyway, so whatever.

She _hates _that this fucker has no common decency and just invites himself into the _girls' _bathroom.

"What the fuck, Santana?" Puck's jamming a notebook under the door to lock them in, and she wants to scream at him really, really badly.

"Leave me alone."

"What the fuck are you going to do?" He's walking over to her and staring at her really sharply, and she realizes he's talking about last night and the text and whatever, she's already forgotten.

"I'm not pregnant," she hisses, glaring at him as she goes back to scrubbing her face. "The test was negative."

"You couldn't pick up the goddamn phone and tell me that shit?"

She shrugs.

"Fuck you," he snaps hatefully, and she gets really pissed and spins around.

"Even if I _was _pregnant, I sure as fuck wouldn't expect you to do anything but give me money for the clinic! I'm not having your kid."

He glares at her, and she knows it's because he's all sensitive about that shit, but she doesn't give a fuck. He needs to grow out of his vagina and stop acting like a pussy little girl.

She hates this version of Puck. She misses the old one that like stole ATMs and shanked people over waffles. He needs to take his ass back to jail or something because she hates this sensitive bullshit.

She's already got one girl who shoots her down and doesn't want her, she doesn't need two.

"Prove it," he says lowly, and his eyes are narrowed like he's all serious or something. "Take a fucking test."

"I already did. Fuck, I already told you that!"

"No, I want to watch."

"You want to watch me pee?" She screws up her face. "_Perv! _That's nasty."

"I want to know you're not fucking lying." He grabs her elbow when she tries to turn back to the sink. His voice is serious and almost kind of threatening. "Don't you dare fucking do something to my kid."

"Or what?" she shoots back. "What the fuck are you gonna do, Puck? Did you threaten Quinn while she was selling your last one to the first bidder?"

He lets go of her arm a little too roughly, and she loses her balance a little bit. Her back rams into the sink, and it hurts, but she doesn't show him that.

"You are such a fucking cunt."

She rolls her eyes. That kind of insult would leave some girls in tears- to her, it's just pathetic. She doesn't get offended over shit like that, he knows it. He's called her worse anyway. Still, there's something boiling inside of her, and it feels like too many emotions getting tossed around. She wants to fight somebody, like physically fight them. She also wants to scream and maybe cuss somebody out.

She has no idea why she's crying.

"What the fuck are you crying for?" He knows her well enough to know something like the c-word isn't going to send her into tears. Obviously he knows something's up.

"Leave me alone." She sounds ridiculous, she doesn't care.

"Are you fucking pregnant?"

"_No!" _She really does scream that, and then she lowers her voice because she doesn't want any teachers coming in here. "Just leave me alone."

"Then why the hell are you crying?"

"Because I'm a girl! I'm allowed to!"

She pushes past him and yanks his notebook from under the door with her foot. She's not sure if anyone pays attention to her practically running down the hall with tears on her cheeks, but she almost doesn't care. She just gets to the parking lot, throws her backpack into the seat beside her, and drives back home.

Her parents are going to be pissed if they find out she skipped. She doesn't give a shit.

…

She manages to fake sick for three days.

She's never been really good at it because her dad's a doctor and can usually tell if she's actually sick or if she's making it up. He doesn't notice this time. Probably because she's crying a lot, and he just doesn't like dealing with tears. Crying has always been a good way of getting whatever she wants- she learned that when she was like three.

She wonders how many tears she'll have to choke up when she tells them she likes girls.

Brittany comes over on the second day and brings her a giant chocolate chip cookie she bought from some bake sale the soccer team was having at school. It looks delicious, but Santana says her stomach hurts and that she can't eat it. Brittany looks sad but kind of nods and looks down at her lap as she sits on the edge of the bed furthest from the one Santana's occupying.

"I don't like you being mad at me," she finally mumbles, and Santana works hard not to roll her eyes.

"I'm not mad at you," she says as nonchalantly as possible. "I've been shitting my brains out, I just don't feel like eating a cookie."

"Are we still friends?"

"Yeah, sure." She shrugs like she doesn't give a shit.

Brittany looks so damn sad, and Santana fucking _hates _that she cares. She fucking _hates _that all she wants to do is hug her and make it all better. She's always been like that with Brittany. They've always been _best friends. _It really fucking sucks that Santana had to make it something more than that because she really misses having a best friend.

She really misses having _any _friends.

…

Sam comes over the next day, and she tells him she's got diarrhea and that she's probably contagious.

He leaves her a blue raspberry slushie and tells her to call him later.

…

Puck comes over that same night, and she has no idea how he gets upstairs.

He must have snuck in or broke in because both of her parents _hate _him, and there's no way they'd just let him in the house and tell him to go up to her bedroom. He's there, though, and he's got a plastic bag in his hand and a scowl on his face.

"Here." He shoves it at her the second he's inside her room and the door is closed behind him.

She opens the bag and looks inside. "I'm not fucking _pregnant!"_

"Take it." He sounds dead ass serious. "Right now."

So she does. She goes into her bathroom and pees on a stick while he sits right outside on her bed and probably listens through the door. When she's finished, she stomps out of the bathroom and stares at him. "Time it," she says hatefully, and she sees him check his cell phone so that he can count.

They spend the full three minutes not speaking to each other. She's glaring at him, and he looks... weird. Scared, maybe. It's dumb because she already knows she's not pregnant. She still hasn't gotten her period, but she's been totally stressed, and the Internet says that's normal.

It's negative.

She looks first, letting out a little breath of relief she didn't even know she was holding in. Then she grabs it off the counter and shoves it at his chest. She thinks it's totally gross that he's holding something she just _peed _on, but she doesn't give a shit.

"How did you even get up here?" she asks as he looks way relieved and drops the pee stick into the trash.

"Your parents aren't here. I just came in through the back."

Her parents aren't here? They didn't even bother telling her they were going out. Fuckers.

"Well, now that you're satisfied that I'm not _lying, _get the fuck out. I'm sick."

"No, you're not." He sits back down on her bed instead of doing what she tells him to do and _getting the fuck out._

"I have a stomach virus. I'll probably be out like the whole week."

"You aren't sick." He rolls his eyes. "You're just pissed off and being bitchy about something. Who fucked you over? Sam?"

She hates him.

"Sam and I are just fine," she says firmly, and then she gestures toward the Big Gulp on her desk. "He just brought me that."

Like a slushie fucking proves something or validates their relationship...

"Want me to get you off?" He says it like it's nothing. Just like she did when she asked him to fuck her in his bedroom.

"No."

"I can go down on you."

She wants to tell him no again, but he's already grabbing her wrist and pulling her down to the bed. She decides not to protest when he starts yanking her pajama bottoms over her hips. And when he makes good on his offer, she tries really hard not to think of someone else.

It's easier later, when he's actually fucking her. She knows it's him and only him, and she can't close her eyes and see someone else's face. He's the only one who can make her come like that, and she knows it. So it's better. Easier.

She still feels like shit when they're finished.

"What's wrong with you?" He hasn't even put his clothes back on, really has made no effort to move except to roll off her and hand her a few tissues.

"What are you talking about?" She's reaching for her shirt and her panties because she doesn't do naked talk, not unless there's a chance that she's getting off again, and that's not happening.

"You're like totally fucked and not in the good way."

She shoots him a look because she doesn't even know what that means. She also kind of doesn't give a shit. She pulls her shirt over her head, and he tugs her arm until she falls back down to lay beside him. It's fucked up because it's not like they make a habit of lying together after sex. They don't. Like at all.

He kind of tugs at her hair a little bit, and she wants to fucking cry.

He can obviously tell because he gets sort of serious and stares at her. "Santana. What's wrong?"

And then she just says it. "I think I might be gay."

She's on her back staring at the ceiling, and he's on his side staring at her. She won't look over for his reaction. She doesn't want to see it. She can't believe those words just came out of her mouth. It's the first time she's said it out loud, the first time she's even mentioned it since that day in the hallway when Brittany basically told her to fuck off.

It seems like a million years pass before he finally says something. And when he does, it's completely lame. "What are you talking about?"

She doesn't know how much plainer she can make it.

"I'm in love with Brittany," she mumbles. "Like _in love."_

"But you guys always fuck around. What's the big deal?"

She can't look at him, but she hates that he can't just _get _it. "I said I'm _in love _with her." She can't stand the way it sounds. "Like I want her to be my girlfriend." She swallows and then brings both hands up to cover her face. "I want a fucking _girlfriend..."_

"Shit."

And it's just one word. It kind of sums everything up, though. _Shit _is just about what she's feeling.

"So, you're like... for real..." He can't even form a coherent question. She doesn't blame him.

"I don't know." She still won't look at him. She doesn't want to see his face.

"Then what... This? What the fuck?" He sounds confused, which is kind of hilarious because there's no way in hell he's more confused than she is.

"I don't know!" she snaps, and she finally at least pulls her hands away from her face. "Maybe I'm bi or something, I don't fucking know!" She kind of chokes on the last word and thinks she might start crying again. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Well, is it like _all _girls? Or is it just her or what?"

"I don't know," she repeats, and her voice kind of wavers.

"Did you tell her?" He's still staring at her, and she finally looks over at him. He's still naked, and she wonders if he knows how distracting that is.

"She doesn't want me."

She hates that he kind of shoots her a pity look. She doesn't want his fucking sympathy. Shit, she doesn't want his _anything. _She doesn't even know why they're having this conversation.

"Maybe she's just like... confused or something?"

Santana rolls her eyes and then looks back up at the ceiling. "She doesn't want me," she repeats stonily. "She wants Artie."

"Jesus, San..."

"I know." She bites down hard on her back teeth to make sure no tears leak out.

There's some more silence, and she wonders if she's made him totally uncomfortable. He can't be any worse than she is, though, so she doesn't give a shit.

Finally, he says, "But you like dudes, too, right? I mean like... you like this?"

She knows the _this _he's referring to is himself and the fact that he just ate her out and then put her ankles around his neck and fucked her into her mattress. She just shrugs.

"I like it when I'm getting off, yeah. But I like it when a vibrator gets me off, too. That doesn't mean I want to have a fucking relationship with it."

He laughs, and she turns her head to glare at him. It's hard, though, because he doesn't look grossed out or disgusted, and he's not staring at her like she's some kind of freak. He just looks normal and kind of amused because she just referenced a relationship with a dildo. It's kind of hard to hate him.

"Don't tell anybody," she says quietly, and he stops laughing and just kind of smiles a little bit and nods. Then he holds his fist up, and she bumps it with her own. They both kind of giggle because it's dumb, but whatever.

"So like, even if you're gay or whatever, I can still fuck you, right?"

She laughs a little more and rolls her eyes. "Maybe."

"Cool."

He won't tell. This whole thing might be partially his fault, but at least he can keep a fucking secret. And yeah, maybe he can still fuck her. As long as the hippopotamus he's dating hasn't like rolled over in her sleep and killed him yet.

She doesn't even say it out loud.

Baby steps.

…


End file.
